CHAPTER FIVE #2
“Are you hurt?” He asked, his voice softening as he looked at me. The control was still there, but it had changed—gentler now, almost protective. Like I mattered more than whatever distance he usually kept.
I took a shaky step back, wariness coiled tight inside me. “What do you care?” I snapped, folding my arms across my chest to stop the tremors. “You made it clear I’m not your problem.”
His jaw tightened. Just for a moment.
“Starling—”
“Don’t!” My voice cracked like dry wood. “You don’t get to pretend you care now. Not after that night. Not after I begged you. Begged you to take me home and you refused. Do you remember?”
“I remember,” he said quietly. There was something shattered beneath the surface—a fracture I hadn’t seen before.
“Then you remember what you said. ‘I can’t.’ That was your answer. You told me you couldn’t help. It wasn’t safe—not for you. So don’t stand there like some damn hero now. You brought me back here. You handed me back to them.”
His face twisted, but not with anger. With guilt. Deep, sinking guilt.
The room went silent. My breathing was shallow and ragged. Somewhere above, pipes groaned, echoing the ache in my chest.
“I didn’t bring you here to argue,” he finally said, voice low, heavy. “I saw you in Tomas’ grip. I knew what he would do. I couldn’t let it happen. Not again.”
“But it is happening.” The words fell out hard. “They’ve put me on the block. So all your heroics? Didn’t…and don’t mean a damn thing.”
My knees gave way, collapsing beneath the weight of my fury.
He caught me again, arms wrapped around me—this time holding, not controlling.
“You’re safe here with me,” he said quietly. “No one’s coming in.”
“I don’t want your pity,” I whispered, voice breaking. “And I sure as hell don’t want your guilt. You made your choice the day you drove me back into their grips. So whatever this is—pulling me into some abandoned room to ‘keep me safe’—it’s too late. You already failed me.”
He nodded slowly, like he was swallowing a bitter truth. “Maybe I did. But I’m still here. And if I can undo even a scrap of what they’ve done to you—I’ll do it.”
I laughed, but it was hollow and bitter. “Undo it? There is no undoing anything, Montgomery. There’s only surviving the next round.”
His mouth opened, like he wanted to say something. Something that could make the darkness less dark. But no words came.
Because there weren’t any.
I sank down onto the cold floor, and wrapped my arms tight around my knees. “Go on,” I said quietly. “Do what you came here to do. Pretend you care…or ruin me for the rest of them. Then go back to your post while the next girl gets torn apart.”
But he didn’t move.
I looked up at him, heart pounding too fast to think. “You act just like them. You claim to be a good guy. A savior. But you…you refuse to save me.”
“I have to,” he said, voice breaking for the first time. “It’s the only way to keep you safe—and keep my cover.”
I studied his face. I hadn’t looked at him before, not really. His jaw was sharp. A faint scar marked the skin beneath his left eye. His features were strong, hard—but his eyes were raw now. Real.
He sat beside me and pulled a cloth from his pocket. “You’re sweating.”
I didn’t stop him as he dabbed my forehead. His touch made my skin burn—not from fear.
Something else. Something deep.
The silence between us stretched and softened.
My hand lifted before I could stop myself. My fingers hovered near his face.
“May I?” I asked.
He nodded.
I touched him slowly. Memorized every angle. The rough stubble along his jaw. The smooth plane of his cheek. The scar. The warmth.
He didn’t draw back.
“How did you get it?” I asked.
“Does it matter?” His voice was quiet, steady. But there was a shake in it if you listened hard enough.
A sharp knock cracked through the silence.
“Five minutes,” a voice called from the hall. “We need to get a move on to get these girls to auction on time.”
I jolted up, the illusion of safety evaporated like mist. Montgomery stood instantly, every inch of him once again coiled in calculated control. He looked toward the door, then back at me—his expression tightened.
“They’re expecting to see signs,” he said quietly, his voice low and rough. “Proof of what I did to you.”
My throat closed tight. Panic flared like a warning spark.
“You don’t have to touch me,” I whispered, voice trembling. “Please.”
He stepped back, hands open, a silent promise. “I won’t,” he said. “But I have to make it look like I did.”
His movements were fast but precise—methodical. His fingers latched onto the hem of my dress and yanked it sharply, the fabric tearing with a harsh rip that made me jump, breath catching. The slit ran dangerously high, exposing the smooth curve of my thigh, flushed and bare.
His hands didn’t stop there. He slid them up to the neckline and pulled it loose, letting one strap slip off my shoulder, dangled just enough to expose pale skin, teasingly suggestive.
Then he was behind me, close enough that his body heat pressed against my back. His fingers threaded through my hair, tangling gently but possessively.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured into the hollow space behind me. “Close your eyes.”
My spine tightened like a wire. Every instinct screamed to flee, to disappear beneath the cold floor. But I didn’t move. I trusted him. I chose to.
Before I could say a word, he yanked my braid once, hard—scattering pins and strands into wild disarray. Loose hair tumbled over my face, soft and tangled, masking my flushed skin. I felt the ghost of his breath just inches from my cheek—warm, steady, but not cruel.
He didn’t touch me again.
“You look…used,” he said bitterly, his voice low and raw. “They shouldn’t question it now.”
I opened my eyes slowly. He was already at the door, one hand on the lock, and I felt it before I saw it—the shift in him. Whatever had passed between us slipped away, settling back into place like a mask I could no longer reach beneath.
Before opening it, he turned back. His voice caught on something almost tender.
“Hold on a little longer, Starling. Just a little longer. For me, please.”
Then the door swung open, and he was gone again—cold, controlled, a stranger I couldn’t quite reconcile with the man I’d just felt.
But my skin still remembered him.
The warmth of his hands lingered like a promise he couldn’t afford to keep.